Marriage of the Angels
by MagicalJordini
Summary: One-shot. Leroux-based. Erik holds Christine to her promise, and they marry as planned. When the Persian offers to help Christine escape from the wedding, her response surprises him.


**A/N:**

Hello! Thank you for clicking on my little story :) Please feel free to leave a review, and favorite/follow!

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own PotO or any of its characters.

* * *

**Marriage of the Angels**

Erik paced back and forth in the small quarters, quietly fuming. The chambers in the back of the church were beginning to feel like a cage. He wrung his hands, and his brows knitted into a sort of frustrated anxiety. The worn floorboards creaked and groaned with each lap around the room.

"Nervous for your upcoming nuptials?" the Persian man quipped from the corner.

"Nervous! Why should Erik be nervous?" he muttered under his breath. He turned to face the Persian, meeting his smug glance with a withering glare. "Daroga, I am merely impatient. I am so close to marrying my Christine, and yet time is passing so slowly! I will not be easy until she is standing in front of me, my ring on her finger, and I hear her say she will be mine forever."

The Persian raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in the wingback chair he was sitting in. "Are you afraid the girl will run?"

"Of course I am afraid! She has run from me more times than I can count! If she is still in love with her little chap, what is to stop her from running away now?"

At that, Erik's head snapped up. He was looking at the Persian with a sudden interest, almost as if he was appraising the man.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"She wouldn't be able to run away if someone was keeping her company, would she, Daroga?"

The Persian's eyes grew wide at this.

"You cannot be serious, Erik. I will not hold that girl here against her will!" The Persian began to rise from his chair, his face reddening in anger.

"No, you won't, Daroga, because she will not ask you to leave. She is a good girl, my Christine. She will not beg you to release her, because she knows she has already made me a promise."

"A promise that you took from her before you nearly drowned her suitor!"

"Sit down, Daroga. Calm yourself." Erik wearily turned his back on the man, his chin falling to his chest. "It was a promise nonetheless."

"If you are so certain Christine will not break her promise, then why are you so worried she will jilt you?"

Erik paused, his shoulders tensing. A flicker of sadness reflected in his eyes.

"Because, Daroga, I am living in a dream now. I never had much faith in dreams."

* * *

The Persian man cursed himself under his breath. Why had he let Erik talk him into this?

"Mademoiselle?" He knocked softly at the door. "Mademoiselle, may I come in?"

"Yes," a faint voice answered.

He opened the door slowly, casting a glance behind him to make sure Erik hadn't followed him. He entered the room with a bashful glance at the bridal beauty seated in front of a vanity mirror.

"Pardon the intrusion, Mademoiselle–"

"Oh, please, call me Christine. I think we're past formalities, don't you, Monsieur?"

The Persian man chuckled at this. He had to admit, Christine Daaé was a remarkable woman. She had stared danger in the face the night before, come to wed herself to death this morning, and yet she was friendly and cordial to the one person connected to her tormentor.

"Well, if you insist, then it must be so. And, my name is Nadir Khan."

She smiled pleasantly, but her eyes did not seem to be looking _at_ him; rather, _through_ him. Her mind was somewhere else. Perhaps on her doomed fate, or perhaps, on her desire to escape?

"Christine," Nadir began hesitantly, "If you wish to…leave here. To leave Erik and return to your life with the Vicomte… I-I could help you."

At this offer, Christine's face paled, and her eyes grew dark.

"No. No, I can't do that. You shouldn't have said that."

"You don't have to be afraid of him, Christine!" Nadir moved closer to her, but she just recoiled as if _he_ were the monster, not Erik. "He won't hurt you, I'll see to that."

"It's not myself I'm worried about," the girl whispered.

She lowered her head, blonde curls falling around her face. His vision was obstructed by this, but Nadir could have sworn he saw a tear slip out of her eye. After a quiet moment, she brushed her hair out of the way, and the Persian suspected she wiped the tear away in the same movement.

"Monsieur Khan," she said in a shaky voice, "I could never do that to Erik. Not after everything that's happened."

The Persian stood dumbfounded. After the hell that Erik had put this girl through, she still felt that she owed him something?

"My dear, you owe him nothing." He spoke with authority, but he approached her with great caution. "Do not pity him and forsake your own happiness. I fear, Mademoiselle, that tying yourself to this monster will be the end of you."

"He's not a monster." This was not said forcefully, but rather stated as a fact.

"No matter what he is, he does not own you."

"Perhaps not. But I have to do this. If not for him, then for myself."

Nadir blinked his eyes at this. Could it be possible that she really did love him? Or was that her guilt talking?

"You mistake me, sir, for a martyr. In fact, I am really being selfish. You look confused, Monsieur Khan–allow me to explain. You see, I will not suffer as Erik's wife, for he has promised to be as gentle as a lamb, and I know he would do anything I asked of him. But if I were to marry Raoul? _Then_, I would suffer."

"You perplex me further, Mademoiselle."

"It's like this, Monsieur: if I had to spend the rest of my life knowing I had made Erik miserable, that I was the cause of his unhappiness, I could never live with myself. My guilt of banishing him to his ultimate Hell would tear me apart. It is easier for me to refuse Raoul, because I know he will never live without love. Of course he won't: he is rich, handsome, a man of high society. But Erik will forever be alone if I abandon him. He has never known love, and he never will if I leave. So I ask you, Monsieur: how could I leave a human being to suffer like that?"

In that moment, the organ began playing the melody that was meant to start the wedding ceremony. Nadir was speechless, silenced by the angelic goodness of Christine's soul. How she could empathize with a murderer, how she could link her own suffering to the ghost's, he could not comprehend. Christine must have read this in his face, because she only smiled at him.

"I am not afraid of Erik, Nadir," she said as she stood. "And I do not fear this future I am choosing; I will be happy because I will make _him_ happy."

As she lifted the veil over her face, Nadir returned her smile. Yes, by God, she would be happy. He could see that now.

Opening the door for her, the two of them stepped into the hall, the rest of the chapel blocked from their view by a thick wooden door. Nadir offered the girl his arm.

"Will you allow me to walk you down the aisle, Christine?"

She took his arm, her smile as radiant as the sun.

"I would be honored, Nadir."

* * *

The rest of the wedding seemed to pass like a dream for Nadir. As soon as they entered the chapel, Erik went rigid with tension. But soon, the angel smiled at him, and he visibly relaxed. The pair reached the altar, where Nadir handed Christine off to Erik. They said their vows, and sang the wedding mass that Erik composed himself. They truly did sound like angels – their voices entwined in the most beautiful way, creating an unearthly melody that rose and flew upwards to Heaven.

By the time they had exchanged rings, the bride and groom were crying with happiness. And when it came time to seal their bond in a kiss, Christine gently lifted Erik's mask, careful to hide his deformity from the priest, and she pressed the softest kiss to his lips. Nadir was stunned when Erik did not fall to his knees, sobbing, after that kiss.

After that day, Erik fulfilled all the promises he had made to Christine. They abandoned the underground lair and bought a little house just outside Paris. They took walks on Sundays. And Erik, as Christine told Nadir, was the sweetest and most attentive of husbands.

Once, Nadir met Christine in the streets of Paris, and was able to speak with her without the threat of having Erik overhear them. He asked her to honestly tell him whether or not she was happy.

"Oh yes," she replied with sincerity. "I am sure I made the right decision. And now that I have gotten to know my Erik, to _really _know him, I feel like I could not love anyone more. He and I are like two parts of one soul, united by our music. I assure you, Nadir, I am the happiest woman that you will ever meet."

And with that, she turned and walked back to her home, where Erik would be eagerly awaiting the return of his living wife.


End file.
